


Tell Me We’re Dead (And I’ll Love You Even More)

by silenceinmolasses



Series: Cocksure but kinda Shy [3]
Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, Codependency, Consensual Violence, Friendship/Love, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kissing, Metaphors, OTP Feels, Other, Transgender, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 04:51:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5854891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silenceinmolasses/pseuds/silenceinmolasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both died too early.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me We’re Dead (And I’ll Love You Even More)

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone needs me to add more tags, I will definitely do it. Much love, dear MattMello shippers.
> 
> Title from "The Torn-Up Road" by the one and only Richard Siken.

They were fragile like colorful glass, that was their nails, and hurt and weak but they weren’t alone. Surrounded by wet strawberry kisses and drinks which tasted like their favorite childhood books they pushed their bodies to the music. The beat broke their bones and blood broke out like confetti, washing off whatever anxiety they had about coming here. Whatever anxiety Matt felt about coming here was slipping away as he ate sugar with a crystal spoon, his eyes barely staying open as chatty femmes next to him giggled. The sound was the color of droplets reflected in the sun.

His third dessert plate was almost empty. The remaining cream looked like snowflakes; the same snowflakes were singing along to the chorus of a song and hearts were bought and sold in this mass of sweat and broken pearl necklaces.

Matt drowsily waved to goodbye kisses of the redheads who were sitting next to him all evening; they went to the dance-sea as he eyed his empty plates, feeling stretched out and soggy.

Maybe there was poison in the sugar.

A cute little syrupy chaos around him kept spinning like a kaleidoscope: bright and colorful and lively. It was so easy to forget they were all dead.

The redhead wiped caramel spit from the corner of his lip with a sleeve and stood up. Muscles were tickling his bones and his thoughts kept jumping out of his brain tissue to the rhythm of his pulse.

No, that wasn’t his pulse, that was the music. Would he fall if he left the table? Would his bones get scattered all over the place for others to dance on?

Would he become glitter as red as his hair?

He wanted to piss.

Matt swam through the boys with their hair and teeth shining like gills, the music winding itself in their legs, stroking their inner thighs and he quickened his step. Before ordering some more sugar he wanted to find that only place in this mad-hell-paradise where he could get some water instead of lemonade for his burning eyes.

The narrow dark corridor just behind restrooms was a bit too warm but it was dark and the lonely sink looked inviting. Matt drank a few gulps, listening how the music and the escaped water drops echoed against the ghostly tiles; the noise whispered comfortingly across his nape and the guy decided that he could stay here just like that.

It was good for his strawberry psyche, you see.

Whatever he thought he could read on the condensed mirror unexpectedly lost its appeal as Matt fell on his knees, a harsh blow blossoming in the pain in the back of his neck. Whatever self-defense pretense he had in himself before was absolutely useless as a boot stepped on his hand.

The ceiling was the most crystal blue Matt had ever seen.

It wasn’t the ceiling, it was Mello’s eyes.

“I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” a snarky voice spoke above him as a clenched fist smashed Matt’s ribcage. He coughed drily and bared his neck, stuffed with roses.

“Aren’t you going to defend yourself?” Mello got down on one knee, zhir barred teeth making zhir look animalistic and made from gold. Matt missed this sight.

For this sight alone he would do any means necessary.

“I will dance with your corpse,” Mello hissed and, gripping Matt’s hair (zhir hand was trembling), knocked his head against the floor. Once. Twice.

Matt’s vision was growing dahlias around his pupils and he finally gripped Mello’s wrist: a gesture familiar from before when Mello would get too thrilled in zhirself, zhir body unable to contain anything anymore, eyes watery and hands sweaty and Matt would just spread his legs so that zhe would reach his kidney easier.

“We’re already dead, aren’t we?”

Mello glared sulkily, zhir suddenly soft lips kissing the bruise on his head.


End file.
